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As the Irishman bent me over his knee and spanked me, then sat me in his lap and pressed his lips to mine, I thought we were forging some sort of connection.

We had similar tastes, a fondness for geeky sci-fi and, clearly, an enjoyment of spanking.

As we talked and snuggled on my bed, we spoke about meeting up again. As we did walking down to the tube station arm in arm.

When the messages started going unanswered, I should have known the “not looking for anything serious text” was coming.

I’m not heartbroken, it was just one night of fun.

Why should we plague ourselves with what could have been.

But, just sometimes, we are given a cruel awakening into how deceitful the world can me. When a handsome man takes you in his arms and holds you, tells you how beautiful you are and holds you close, sometimes the heart can’t help but open up again.

However, I don’t think this Irishman was ever meant to have mine.

Sometimes the pain of letting a one night only encounter go is the price you pay for a spanking.

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